Yet Another Tail to Tell
by LuckyPockets
Summary: [Un(able-to-)Finish(ed) Story] Prequel to the Mousehunt Game
1. Chapter 1

"Are we there yet? Are we? Are we?" a sharp voice rang through the mind of the sleepy boat captain. Irritated as he was from being awakened, he could not find fault at the source of the voice; a tiny, yet adventurous child no taller than his knee.

"Almost, me boyo, almost." was the reply, with a slight accent hinting on his origins. Although his exterior might suggest age and possibly weakness, his firm grip on the handle of the wheel, as well as the posture he adopted, would disagree otherwise. As he expertly guided the boat through the murky waters, he vividly reminisced of his past life; of braving through hostile lands, sailing through both Home and Foreign waters, of the people and creatures he encountered...

He maintained such thoughts for a time, but quickly brought himself back to reality. "Stupid", he cursed himself silently, "could have wrecked ourselves on an iceberg if i wasnt careful." Thoughts of retirement briefly invaded his mind, but he chucked and mentally swept them away. "The only time I'll retire would be when i couldn't pilot my Seabreeze again." He vowed silently to the heavens above.

"Grandpa! Grandpa! What's that ship there?" His grandson exclaimed, pointing excitedly at the blurry object port-side of his ship. He peered at the object, then squinted in an attempt to improve his vision. Failing so, he reached for his telescope, which sat in a dusty, open chest accompanied by a compass and a sextant.

"Ah... That'll be the S.S Huntington... the third i'd reckon." he spoke as he placed the telescope back into its original spot in the chest. "A silly thing..." He thought to himself as he sailed towards her "renaming the ship just because of some minor modifications..."

"M'cation?" the child said, testing the new word. "Aye my lad, modification." was the reply. He rigged the sails so that the ship would sail at a gentle pace, then continued.

"Years ago. the king ordered his shipwrights to build him a grand boat, one that would be big enough to carry enough men, supplies and gear to foreign lands. It was a gift to his loyal men, the Mousehunters, to give them more experience in the art of Mousehunting.

"Mice?" the child asked, "They're Cute!" The boy thought of the small, white mice with the funny big ears that he once found at the grounds of the castle they visited, when they went to watch the Royal ceremony in which novice Mousehunters attended to claim their new titles.

"Yes, those mice." The grandfather answered. "The king decided that to give his Mousehunters more experience, he would send them to explore new lands, for a small fee of course." He stretched, then reached for a small, battered logbook he kept in his pockets. Flipping through the neatly indexed pages, he stopped at 'H' and showed it to the child. "This, is the Hydra mouse" He spoke solemnly.

"It doesn't look so scary." The child quipped at the sight. Chuckling to himself, the old man continued "Maybe not this one, but if you had seen the real one, you would be hiding under you parents' bed in a minute." Seeing disbelief in the child's eyes, he continued: " This mouse had seven heads, each mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth,and they're all sharp enough to gobble you up!" He exclaimed, grabbing the child up and tickled him as he slowly swung him around. "It was the biggest, the boldest, and it liked squirmy little young'uns like you for breakfast!" Giggling with the pure happiness that only young kids could create, the one man smiled. Ah youth...

After such merriment, he placed his grandson back onto the deck, and continued. "The hydra was so strong that when the ship left the Harbor for her maiden voyage, a swarm of them rose from the depths, and tore it to pieces. It was a horrifying sight, terrifying locals and sightseers. When it was over, the ship was gone, and many of the onlookers were hurt. Angered by this, the king proclaimed that a bounty be placed on every mouse in the kingdom, and ordered his clerks to replicate and distribute copies of the ship's blueprints to his Mousehunters. Woe betides, for then the mice struck again! After all the damage they've done, the mice left, and it all seemed hopeless again."

The old man stopped, moving to adjust the sails as they made a beeline for the ship."That was when the news came out; the pieces were still out there! It seemed that the Hydra mouse, whether for keepsakes or to poke fun at the king, kept scraps of the blueprints around. Once news went out, the Mousehunters all started to descend onto the place; a strange lagoon where creatures and mythical beasts lived and thrived, and in that fearsome place, was where the home of the great Hydra was.

The old man checked on the conditions of the weather, deemed it suitable for the pace, and continued his tale. "True-sworn to their duty, the Mousehunters ventured into the Lagoon, all oblivious to the dangers they faced. The first team of scouts entered, armed with some of the best traps our scientists at Digby could build."

"Dig... Digdy?" His earnest audience of one asked. "Dig-By, with a B, my lad, over at that big drill yonder." Came the reply, as the old sea salt pointed the general direction without a look, so sure of its location.

 _A flash of memories came and went in his mind. The never-ending depths. The hammering and explosions, all of which could have rivaled the Gods. There were new mice there now... Something related to rocks..._

Shaken out of his stupor, he peered down at his grandson, the source of his return to reality. "But what about the people at Lay-Goo?"

"Ah, the hunters at the Lagoon." He mused for a while, perhaps to retrace his thoughts. After a while, he continued, though with a much more somber voice.

"When the scouting party returned, with all eyes of the kingdom eagerly waiting to see them, it was... not well."

Not well was a grave understatement. "Many had be wounded, some even near death as they returned. Thank the Powers for the King's mages..." He remembered the whispers from the gossips at the taverns.

"The traps, they have failed them!" One whispered with a ghostly tone. A failed trap was the worse situation that could be faced by Mousehunters, for the only time you would know was when you were facing the enemy, and if your trap failed...

"Hold your tongue!" Shouted a voice. "There would be new traps!"

"Aye, and better ones, from the wise men at the drill and labs!" Agreed another.

Unbeknownst to them, the same conversation was being held, though the audience was none other than... the King of Gnawnia.

"Preposterous... This is unthinkable!" The King muttered.

"Sire... Though the current situation has soured, the end, after all, is not upon us" came the reply. The frail man who spoke was none other than the King's adviser, a man who'd once traveled throughout the land for many years, just to record the details of his liege's kingdom. Honored by his efforts, the King made the man his royal adviser, and ensured that his efforts to do so would not be left to die out.

As he leaned on his gnarled cane, made from the strong trees of Whisker Woods, he stroked his white, wispy beard that decorated the once strong, but now wrinkled, face of the adviser. "While it is true that we have suffered a defeat, it does not mean that we are lost. The hunters that returned did make contact with the Trapsmith that lived there."***

"What's a trap-swith?" the little boy said, with his eyes widened in wonder, staring eagarly at his grandfather as he waited for his reply.

"A trap-smith... is ah... someone who likes meeting mice a lot." The old sailor answered, fumbling a little in an attempt to explain. "They... like to play with them, and... build toys to see if the toys could get them."

As the old man attempted to explain without scaring the child, his thoughts flitted through his mind, trying to supply him with the correct words to use. After all, how does one explain the profession (perhaps obsession would be the better word) of the Trapsmith? They came from anywhere and everywhere, people who are so obsessed with mice that they would live where the mice were found; ignoring the dangers that may occur at the very place they call home.

"So, what hwappened next?" The child asked, with keenness obvious in his voice. Squinting at the old and yellowed chart nailed to the side, the old man examined it for a moment, and confirmed the ship's location before continuing.


	2. Chapter 2

"No… not the ironside driller, the other one, the other one!" The Trapsmith booming voice echoed throughout the room. Aside from startling a few Eagle Owl mice perched on the Trapsmith's hut, the reluctant hunters conscripted into helping him continued with their work.

"It's an easy job they said, 'Oh it'll be just like a stroll through the woods' they said." The heavyset hunter muttered under his breath as he swapped the heavy iron drill for another. Grunting with effort, the hunter restarted his journey to the workbench. "They both look the same anyway, like he could tell the difference…" The hunter grumbled to himself.

"Ironside Driller. Crude material, perhaps a lower quality brother?" Came the fast reply from behind. A stark contrast to the previous, the hunter followed behind with a notebook and quill in his hands.

"Your brother Abel is right, Cain. What you hold in your hands is the refined product of my life's work, so don't. Drop. It." The Trapsmith enunciated. "As you can see from the lack of impurities staining the metal, this drill was fashioned from the grand metal-smith of Digby. Although yours truly did fashion the blueprints for them to follow…" The Trapsmith completed his line with a gesture to himself, and started selecting tools from a box.

"It's a pity that this will be the only one-of-a-kind mechanical golem to be ever created. 'Too big to fit' them eggheads in the castle said, although they did look interested when I said I could shrink it down." After securing the drill to the rest of the golem, the Trapsmith swabbed his face with a rag, the remnants of what seemed to have been once a beautiful tapestry but now a dirty piece of cloth. How the mighty have fallen, Cain thought as he stretched his tired muscles from the work.

"All right… now for the words of Command…" Stretching himself, the Trapsmith hesitated for a moment. "Um, you fellas might wanna... back up a little for this." Seeing the uncertainty show on his face, the brothers quickly followed suit; the look was alien compared to how he behaved for the past few weeks they've been here. Surely everything was going to be alright?

"Ahm…" Clearing his throat, the Trapsmith began the ceremony. "Incipeio…Inceptus… Finito!" Right on cue, the magic sigils carved throughout the body of the golem started to glow, each providing a sense of purpose to the golem.

"Good start. Starting sequence shaky. Imperfect etching by the mages?" Able spoke while writing his observations. Some of the carved sections had begun to spark from residue magic. "That's what happens when you employ second-rate wood-carvers." The Trapsmith shrugged. "Can't afford the best, even with the King's backing. Hate those lazy little…" The Trapsmith ended his sentence with silence, his eyes glued to the golem's movements.

When the golem finally stopped, Cain let out a whistle. "Mages were right; this is… big." His words an understatement to the size of it.


End file.
